Mom woke me earlier then usual, whispering something about a family outing. Her lips were trembling and her eyes were nervously flitting around the room, as if afraid that someone was lurking behind the curtains, ready to bounce out and kill her.

I wiped the sleep away from my eyes and dressed in the cold darkness of my small bedroom. I could hear my father shouting in the living room. He wanted breakfast.

The sun had barely risen when we left the house. I was confused but too tired to ask questions. Dad was driving the car, his hands clenching the wheels so tightly I thought he might just break them in half. Mom had her cheek pressed against the chilled window, I could tell that she was trembling.

Something terrible was about to happen but my trepidation kept me from being inquistive.

We stopped at a rocky cliff overlooking an angry ocean. The rocks were jagged and dangerous, and the waves of the dark ocean were whipping around, slapping against the side of the cliff furiously, trying to stretch out their limbs to swallow those who dared intrude the privacy of the cliff.

We got out of the car slowly. Dad looked determined, his hands stashed inside his warm coat and his brow furrowed. Mom looked scared and sad, her eyes refusing to meet mine and her shoulders hunched up around her ears.

“What’s going on?” my voice was still hoarse from sleep. I could feel my stomach twisting in anxiety. My throat was scratchy and my nerves felt like they were on fire. Every cell in my body screamed at me to get the hell out of there, to run far far away from my parents and never look back. I planted my feet firmly on the ground instead and stared squarely at my mother and father.

“You have dishonored the reputation of our family,” my father’s words were spoken in a strangled whisper, as if something was constricting his throat and pressing down on his vocal chords. His eyes were wild, he looked terrifying.

“What?” all traces of sleepiness had disappeared from my voice and eyes. The panic that had been mildly gnawing away at my sides suddenly gripped my chest in a cold, unforgiving clasp. My heartbeat doubled, and cold sweat coated the inside of my clenced hands.

“We can’t allow you to continue on doing this,” my father continued as if I hadn’t uttered a single word, “this is where it ends.”

My parents had moved around me so that they were standing by the car and I was standing on the edge of the cliff, my back to the stormy water. I could see my father’s right hand leave his coat pocket. His finger were wrapped around a pistol, his arms steadier than I’d have expected. He raised the gun to eye-level and stared at me as he perfected his aim.

I spared a shocked glance at my mother and could see tears running down her cheeks. My eyes moved back to my father, and for a split second I could read hesitation in his eyes, despair in the features of his well-loved face. My mother jumped in shock as seven quick shots were fired into my chest.

The bullets punched holes into my heart and lungs. Piercing pain electrified every nerve in my body. My breath had caught in my throat and I reflexively raised a hand to stop the sudden onslaught of bullets. My head was suddenly clear and all I could see were my mom and dad, standing there in shock, their featues distorted with fear and uncertainty, every color hightened as I took my last breath.

And then everything went dark as I fell in the sea behind me.

Inspired by The Crimewave that Shames the World

a map of countries that have reported cases of honor killings

It’s kind of hard to convince American teenagers that we still need feminism. “But my mom works,” many a peer of mine has stated in response to finding out that I identify with the f word. “She even kept her own last name. We’re totally post-feminist.”

Ah, yes, it is fun for us to live in the privileged little bubble that is the United States, where our Moms do work and can keep their own last names (how far we’ve come…). Even with the rate of women earning 77 cents for every man’s dollar (as of 2007), not to even go into all of America’s feminist short comings, we are incredibly lucky to live here.

At least we don’t have honor killings.

Honor killings, as defined by StopHonourKillings.com, includes battery, torture, mutilation, rape, forced marriage, and even murder for the sake of preventing or punishing women’s violations of socially accepted behavior, especially sexual behavior. Women who have been abducted, arrested or raped are blamed for shaming their families and may be targeted for honor killings. In such countries as Iraq, Syria and Jordan the law condones these cases with lesser sentences, and in some rural communities even mandates them.

Still don’t think we need feminism? This article I ran into over the weekend should help you change your mind. The title of the article? Turkish Girl Buried Alive for Talking to Boys.

Turkish police have recovered the body of a 16-year-old girl they say was buried alive by relatives in an “honour” killing carried out as punishment for talking to boys.

The girl, who has been identified only by the initials MM, was found in a sitting position with her hands tied, in a two-metre hole dug under a chicken pen outside her home in Kahta, in the south-eastern province of Adiyaman.

Police made the discovery in December after a tip-off from an informant, the Turkish newspaper Hurriyet reported on its website. The informant told the police she had been killed following a family “council” meeting. Her father and grandfather are said to have been arrested and held in custody pending trial. It is unclear whether they have been charged. The girl’s mother was arrested but was later released.

Media reports said the father had told relatives he was unhappy that his daughter – one of nine children – had male friends. The grandfather is said to have beaten her for having relations with the opposite sex.

A postmortem examination revealed large amounts of soil in her lungs and stomach, indicating that she had been alive and conscious while being buried. Her body showed no signs of bruising.

The discovery will reopen the emotive debate in Turkey about “honour” killings, which are particularly prevalent in the impoverished south-east.  Official figures have indicated that more than 200 such killings take place each year, accounting for around half of all murders in Turkey.

As I read this article, I thought this girl was my age…this girl could have been me. And that’s a scary ass thought. I thought of all my guy friends, the conversations I have with them every day, and then tried to imagine a society in which those conversations — which are insightful, helpful, kind and funny– could be the nails in my coffin.

I’m not trying to minimize the sexist issues that I, and all other American/1st world feminists face, because they are important. Just because disgusting shit like this happens doesn’t mean we should give up the fights to end injustices that effect our own lives, no matter how they compare to honor killings.

But the fact is that we have come so far in our own country that it’s sometimes hard to believe that somebody would actually murder their own family member (granddaughter…daughter) for merely talking to the opposite sex.

The next time anybody questions feminism, it may be because they’re not thinking globally. Clearly, we have a shit ton of work left to do.

protesters against honor killings

I told Julie I was meaning to write about this ever since I submitted my first post here, but I’ve been delaying it.

However, my friend Elena just sent me this article from a Jordanian magazine, “Jo”, and I thought it was about time for a little rant (or a big one). Official statistics are scant, but the chilling fact is that brothers and fathers and relatives are killing their sisters and mothers on a notion that the women are tainting the family honor, they are being treated sympathetically by courts, and bragging about their noble actions. The thought sickens me, but the bleak reality remains.

Here’s the link to the article, if you’d like to have a read.

So, the article begins with establishing the problem. Women are being killed in the name of “honor”. This so-called honor is determined using a terribly unreliable method (checking for blood after penetration). And the worst part is, it’s considered normal.

At that point I was thinking, “Cool. This article is pretty good.”

Of course, they have to screw up somehow, right? Here’s part of the last paragraph:

“We can be conservative and teach our daughters how to preserve themselves… We should make them decide by free will to take the safe path… that’s the only guaranteed way to make it happen. Otherwise we’ll be wasting our time, trying to show that we’re the kings of the jungle and fooling ourselves into thinking everything is OK, while in reality we might be losing control.”

Preserve ourselves? Take the “safe” path? Bullshit.

I understand this standard of safety and preservation probably comes from a religious perspective, but, really, this isn’t taking us anywhere. It’s like saying, “We think the girl should be a virgin on her wedding night. We’re not going to kill her for it, though.”

I’ll admit, taking the killing part out of honor killing is an improvement, but the idea is still there. The idea that the “safe” path is the sex-free one, that virginity equals preservation, and that relationships taint a woman and maim her entire family’s fucking honor.